Goodbye
by SunnyDreams
Summary: You were on the couch when you got the call. The one that would break your heart, tear your soul into shreds, and destroy your will to live. But you won't give up. You can't. Because, even though it's hard, you know there's someone else to live for.


You're sitting on the couch when you get the call. You had been watching _Wheel of Fortune_ , bouncing on the cushions and yelling out the answers when you figured them out, but you stand up and click the TV off when your phone starts to ring.

You check the caller ID. "Unknown number", it says. You frown, but figure that maybe one of your friends changed their phone number and forgot to tell you. You press on the "answer" button and hold the phone up to your ear, unaware of the grief that is about to swallow you whole.

A voice you don't recognize comes from the end of the line. "Is this Mrs. Kelsi Evans?" the person asks, voice sounding kind yet sympathetic. Her tone makes you nervous, and you frown slightly.

"Yes…" you say hesitantly, putting your left hand in your pocket. You walk around the room a few times, wondering why she's calling but also not sure that you want to know.

The woman sighs. "I regret to inform you-" Oh no. You've heard people things like this before, and they never end well. Granted, that was mostly on TV, but… "that your husband, Ryan Evans, has passed away in a car crash. There was a drunk driver, and the intoxicated man's car slammed into-"

You stop listening. The moment this woman said the words "passed away", your hand flew to your mouth and your eyes filled with tears. You stand in the middle of the living room, a breath that you had been in the middle of taking caught in your throat, and interrupt the woman.

"I'm sorry, I have to go," you say, pushing the "end call" button. You drop your phone to the ground and your knees buckle as you drop to the ground, letting out a strangled sob. He can't be dead. He _can't._ You've been married for two years and you love him like heck. Ryan wouldn't leave you, you know he wouldn't. There has to be some mistake. There has to be.

But then… why are you on the floor crying your eyes out? No one would play a cruel joke like this, you know that. So that would mean… it's true. Ryan is dead. You'll never see him again. Never kiss him again, never hold him again, never have a conversation with him _ever again._ You slam a fist to the ground, teeth gritted through the tears as you cry.

 _He's dead,_ is all you can think. It's repeating again and again like a broken record in your mind. He's dead and gone, and you don't think you'll be able to deal with the pain ripping your heart and soul in two. Why Ryan? Why _Ryan?_

* * *

It's exactly a month later that you find out you're pregnant with his baby. You sit in the car, stunned, as the information sinks in. Quiet tears drip down your cheeks. A baby? But… why? How- well, you know how, but that isn't the point.

A baby. You remember a few months before you'd gotten married, you had asked him what he thought about kids. You were in college then. His eyes had seemed to shine as he told you that he'd love some, one or two, and you'd smiled, because you felt the same way. He would have made a great dad, you know that.

But… now you're going to have a baby, but he isn't around for it. He's dead. He won't get to hold this baby, or hug it, or tell it good night. You take a shuddering breath. How will you do this without him? You need him like you need air. Without him, you can't breathe.

You have to, though, for the baby. You had been thinking about ending your own life to go be with Ryan, but then you'd started to get sick and you somehow knew that there was someone else to live for. You have to keep going- if not for yourself, then for the baby growing inside of you. Ryan would want you to.

You smile a little bit through the tears as you drive back to the house. He'd be so excited right now- well, you know he is, up in Heaven, but you wish you could see the way his eyes would light up. He'd hug you, and tell you how incredibly happy he is. You can see it in your mind's eye, and even though that's not nearly good enough, you smile. Because he'd want you to.

You park in the driveway and walk into the house, going through your phone's contacts. It's time to make some phone calls.

* * *

Eight months later, on April 25th, you welcome Rose Joy Evans into the world. Visitors come in and out of the room, exclaiming things like "she's so adorable!" and "what a sweetheart", but you can't take your eyes off of your daughter. You let other people hold her, but you usually take her back within a few minutes.

She's so perfect. There's a lull in visitors at the moment, though you know Gabi and Troy will be coming down in half an hour or so with their little son Matt. You sit on the hospital bed and stare at the little bundle in your arms, watching her as she sleeps peacefully. You drop a kiss on the top of her head and hug her close. She's you and Ryan, all rolled into one, which you love.

She's fairly quiet so far, but you're convinced that that will change as she gets older. She's yours and Ryan's baby. You and he both love music and dancing and singing your hearts out, so you're sure that she will, too.

She reminds you of him. She has a little bit of hair, and it's blonde, the same golden color that his was. Her eyes are blue, and while you know that you and Ryan both have blue eyes, you like to think that she got the color from him. You'd talked to her for a little while earlier in the afternoon, and she's a good listener. Ryan was, too.

She opens her eyes, and you smile down at her. Yup, there's that beautiful blue color. She makes little noises, and you talk to her some more, letting her know about her aunts and uncles and grandparents- but most importantly, her daddy. You tell her all about him, and you make sure she knows that he loves her and that you do, too. You only tell her about twenty times, anyways.

Your voice cracks at one point, and you sigh when you realize you're crying. You wipe away the tears. This isn't a time to be sad, you know that. You have a beautiful little girl, and you're so grateful for that. You'll make sure she has a great childhood, even though her daddy's not going to be where she can see him. You know he'll be watching the two of you, though. He loves you guys.

* * *

Rose is nine months old. You have her in her high chair, feeding her Cheerios and telling her things. More about Ryan, of course, because she can never know too much.

"You know, your daddy loved jazz squares," you say, taking a bite of your apple as Rose picks up Cheerios with her sticky fingers and places them in her mouth. "He liked to tell people 'They're a crowd favorite. Everybody loves a good jazz square.'" You smile at the memory, looking down at the apple on your plate.

"Dazz," comes a tiny voice. Your head snaps up immediately. You look at Rose, hoping she'll repeat it, as she munches her Cheerios. She's never said anything before.

"What's that, baby?" you ask, pushing the apple away from yourself as you focus on your daughter. She gives you a smile.

"Dazz," she says again. You break into a huge grin.

"Rosie, that's so good! Jazz! That's right. Jazz squares!" You jump out of your seat to stand next to her, and she gives you another baby smile.

"Dazz," she tells you. You laugh.

"Jazz square! You're doing so good, baby girl. I'm so proud of you." You kiss her on the top of the head and she giggles, flicking another Cheerio into her mouth.

"Dazz tare," she tells you. You smile wider than ever before and pick her up out of the high chair, hugging her close.

"That's right! Jazz square. That's so good, Rosie. Jazz square." She giggles, and you kiss her again, right on the cheek. She laughs. She loves when you do that. You carry her off to her bedroom, where the baby book you picked out just for her lies, and pick up the pen to make a note.

"First Word: Jazz square," you say as you write it down, even though you know you'll never forget this. Jazz square. Ryan would be so ecstatic. You smile at the thought. You know he'd be jumping up and down, grinning and begging her to say it again and again.

"Want me to try and do a jazz square for you, baby girl?" you ask her, smiling. "I can't do it as good as Daddy, but I can sure try. He's really proud of you, sweetheart," you tell Rose. She beams up at you.

"Dazz tare," she says again. You nod, smiling, and prepare yourself to attempt the dance move. Ryan had worked with you for hours on this; you should at least be able to do a rough square.

You move one foot forward, another to the side, the first one back, and second to the right. You smile to yourself, and look back at Rose to see, with amusement, that she's watching your feet. She looks back up at you with an adorable baby smile, and you kiss her head.

"Jazz square," you tell her, resting her on your hip and hugging her close to you.

"Dazz tare," she repeats. You smile.

* * *

She's turning one year old today. In the morning, you had gone into her room with your phone, recording a video as you sang 'Happy Birthday'. She had already been awake, making quiet baby noises and saying little words. She knows how to say "jazz square" and "Mama" and "Daddy". You had almost burst into tears when she said "Daddy" a month ago, but you were glad that she said it even though he's not around.

Later in the afternoon, you had taken her down to the mall to have birthday pictures taken. You had dressed her in a pretty pink dress and a birthday hat. She wasn't so into the hat, but the dress was lovely and she didn't seem to have a problem with it. You gave her mac and cheese for lunch, which she had chewed thoughtfully and, eventually, approved. You had smiled at that. Ryan loved mac and cheese.

So now you bring the cake into the kitchen, where she's seated in a high chair babbling and pulling on her dress. You sing 'Happy Birthday' for the second time, smiling at her as the flame from the candle reflects in her eyes. You put the cake down in front of her and snap a picture with your phone. You try to get her to blow out the candle, but realize that she won't do it. So, you "help" her get rid of the flame before she can touch it.

It's a small cake. You don't see why you would need a regular sized one when only one person will be eating it. You're not too hungry, so you figure Rosie can have however much she likes. You have a larger cake stashed away in the refrigerator for her birthday party that's tomorrow, of course, but you don't think you'll eat any of it. You'll be too busy remembering when you and Ryan went to Chad and Taylor's kid, Liam's (he's four now), first birthday party.

Ryan had playfully thrown an arm around your waist and walked around like that the entire time, greeting people and smiling. He had (very, _very_ loudly) bragged that he was going to marry you, and while it was sort of embarrassing at the time, you realized later that you hadn't laughed like that in a long while. He had sat next to you and fed you cake, even though you'd insisted that you were perfectly capable of lifting the fork and eating it without assistance. He had just smiled then and told you to go for it. Though suspicious, you had picked up the fork and had been about to put the bite of cake into your mouth- when he grabbed your wrist and steered the cake into his own mouth. He had grinned like crazy, while you just snorted and gave in. You fed him cake and he did the same to you (all the while, Gabi was taking pictures of you two. You hadn't noticed at the time, but she'd given them to you about a week after the party).

You sigh and look back up at Rosie. She's picking at the cake, watching it with interest, but she doesn't seem to know what to do with it. You're about to get up and help her, when suddenly she smashes her face into the tiny cake.

Your mouth forms an 'O' shape as she comes up giggling, and you can't help but laugh along with her. Her face is covered in vanilla crumbs and pink frosting, which is an interesting look for her, you decide. You realize that this means you'll have to give her a bath before doing presents, but that's okay with you. You take a bunch of pictures with your phone, deciding to send them to some friends, and grin. She looks adorable, and you can practically hear Ryan's laughter in your ears.

Later that night, you sit her down on the floor with a box wrapped up in animal print paper. You sit down next to her and watch as she pokes at it with her little fingers. It's from you… and Ryan.

You "help" Rose to unwrap the box after it's been about five minutes, and she knocks the lid off. You pull the item inside out of its cardboard home, setting it in front of her.

Rosie stares at it with wide eyes. She slowly reaches out to touch its soft head, then giggles and tugs on its ear. You smile. It seems like she likes it. Ryan had known she would.

You remember the day all too well. You and Ryan had been married for around a year then, walking hand-in-hand around the mall. Suddenly, he'd stopped and yanked you into the Build-A-Bear. You had been confused, but he'd told you that if you two were going to have a kid someday, that child would need a stuffed animal. You had protested, saying that maybe you both should wait until you were actually expecting to get toys, but he'd waved just a hand in the air and pulled you over to the teddy bears.

So he and you had made a stuffed bear. It had brown fur and an adorable smile, with eyes that sparkled with the light from the ceiling. When you two had finished with and bought the teddy, you had to admit that it was pretty cute. Ryan had smiled, throwing an arm around your shoulder, and carried it through the mall and the rest of the way home.

You watch Rose as she holds the bear the best she can, chewing on its ear. You smile at her, glad that Ryan had convinced you to buy the bear after all. "You know," you say softly, "Daddy picked that bear out for you. He wanted you to have a stuffed animal to love on."

Rose takes the bear's ear out of her mouth and looks at you. "Daddy," she says, blue eyes wide.

You smile sadly. "Yeah, baby girl. Daddy."

At around nine that night, after you've put Rose to bed, you sit on your own as quiet tears roll down your cheeks. You don't want to wake her up.

This day has been very bittersweet for you, full of memories and surprises. Memories include Ryan's bear, the mac and cheese, and the birthday party thoughts. Surprises were the cake face and how Rose actually paid attention to the bear. Most of the time, she just gives stuffed animals a glance and then looks away, but she really seems to like this teddy.

You miss Ryan. He would have been beyond excited today, helping with the cake and giving Rose kiss after kiss. You know he _is_ excited, up in Heaven, but he's not _here,_ which hurts. You wish Rose could meet her daddy.

When you'd first found out you were going to have a baby, you weren't so sure you'd be able to handle a kid alone. You had been upset that Ryan had left you right when you needed him the most, but you knew deep down that he hadn't chosen to go. Now, you realize that while he's gone, he had left you the most precious thing he could have. Rose is your baby and his, and he's trusting you with her well-being. He gave you someone that was half him and half you, a perfect mixture, and nothing could be better than that.

So you go to sleep in the middle of the bed, catching a whiff of cologne from his side, even though it's been so long. You've washed the sheets in the last almost two years, obviously, but he wore enough of it that the scent still lingers. You smile sadly and let yourself drift off.

* * *

She's five now and the sweetest little girl you've ever met. You walk through the theater and sit down near the middle, ready to watch your five year old dance her heart out. You smile to yourself, sitting the bouquet of red roses in your lap.

Rose has been taking dance lessons since she was three, and she loves them to death. The long-awaited "recital day" has arrived now, and you sit in your seat, looking around as you wait for the performance to begin. From what you can tell, you're close to the youngest mother there at twenty nine years old. You settle back in the cushioned theater chair, waiting for the lights to dim.

And they do. The curtains part and the first group up is a teenage tap team. They're very good, and so are all of the other acts, but you're excitedly awaiting Rose's musical theater/tap group, so you have trouble focusing. You know exactly what costumes they'll be in, since that morning you had dressed Rose in the white tutu dress with red trimming and a cherry colored hairbow. You sigh quietly. The woman to your left is texting (you're pretty sure she's _not_ supposed to be doing that), and the seat to your right is empty. Not amazing surroundings.

But then, there she is. Rose skips onto the stage in that fluffy little dress and big red bow. She stops in the middle of the platform and sings out the first line of the song, then-to your surprise, you don't remember her practicing this part-does a jazz square as the next little girl gallops onto the stage and sings her line.

You feel a grin taking over your face as the group performs their dance, singing along to the music and doing cute little tap moves. You think Rose is the best by far- you might be a bit biased, but she really is. _Ryan,_ the acting, singing, and dancing extraordinaire, is her father. Of course she's good with an audience. You won't take credit for that, of course. That was all Ryan.

You sit in your seat, smiling, until the little girls and single boy finish their dance and trot off of the stage, grinning and waving the whole time. You applaud loudly, fighting the urge to get up out of your chair.

The lights go dark again as the next class troops onstage and positions themselves in their beginning poses. You sit quietly, still smiling slightly, when you hear it.

"I love you, Kelsi Evans."

Your head whips to your right (where the voice had come from), but nobody is there. The seat is as empty as it was before. Your eyes are wide, though. You would know that voice anywhere.

You slowly turn back to the stage, where a ballet group is performing a beautiful number. You can't focus, though. How was that possible? How could you have heard _him?_ He's dead. You must have imagined it, you decide, forcing yourself to pay attention to the ballet class.

Once the whole show is over, you go to the front of the stage. Rose is looking around anxiously, but you call her name and her eyes light up. She shoots away from the teacher that's supposed to be returning children to their parents and into the mob of recital watchers.

After just a few moments, though, she's bursting out of the crowd and running up to you. She throws her arms around your legs and stares up at you, a wide smile on her face.

"You were so good, baby girl!" you tell her, picking her up and handing her the roses. You start to walk towards the exit. "I'm so proud of you," you say, kissing her cheek.

Once you're outside, she says something that practically makes your heart stop. "I saw him, Mommy," she whispers, eyes excited. You freeze.

"Saw who, baby?" you ask carefully, not wanting to jump to conclusions. She smiles even wider, if that's possible, and squeezes her flowers tight.

"Daddy. I saw him sitting right next to you. I recognized him from the pictures," she tells you. "I looked back a little later, but he was gone. He came to watch me dance, Mommy. Did you see him, too?"

You force yourself to start walking towards the car. You fight the tears that are starting to burn in your eyes and hold Rose tighter. "I didn't see him, baby, but I heard him," you whisper. "He said… he said he loves me."

Rose nods, eyes bright, and beams at you. "Yeah! He came for us, Mommy. He came to tell you he loves you and to watch me do my dance!" She's quiet for a moment, then looks up at you as you stop in front of the car. "I'm glad he came, Mommy," she tells you seriously.

You smile sadly and nod your head. "Me too, baby. I'm glad he came, too." You drop another kiss on the top of her head and unlock the car's door. She tugs it open as you let her down, and she climbs into the car. She can strap herself in now, so you head to your side of the car and get into the driver's seat, ignoring the way that your hands are shaking.

You sigh, looking at the ceiling, and bite your lip. "I love you too, Ryan Evans," you whisper, quietly enough so that Rose won't hear. But you know he did. He always does.

* * *

She runs through the house like a blur, dumping her backpack on the ground and sprinting up the stairs and into her room. You jump up from the couch, startled, and race after your twelve year old daughter.

You reach her room and hear sobs coming from within. You frown and knock on her wooden door. "Baby? Why're you crying?"

She sniffles and opens the door, long blonde curls framing her perfect face. You're suddenly infinitely glad that she's not like those other preteen girls who shut their parents out when they're upset. She's been taught better than that.

She lets you come into her room and sit down on the bed, then she gingerly takes the place next to you. There are still tears running down her cheeks, and occasionally she takes a big gulp of air.

You sit quietly and rub her back for a few minutes until she seems to have calmed down enough for you to re-ask your question. "Sweetheart, what's wrong?"

She bites her nails and gulps, then manages to choke out a sentence. "Kids at school w-were teasing m-me."

You sigh. Bullies. Of course. Your daughter isn't particularly self-conscious: she's open minded and willing to offer her ideas, never quick to judge. But sometimes, her openness can let her be hurt. You stroke her curls.

"About what, sweetie?" you ask gently. She swallows and looks away for a moment, then back at you with shame in her eyes.

"Dad."

You take in a sharp breath. This is certainly new. You feel anger and grief flashing inside of you, but force yourself to be steady. "What did they say?"

She draws in a shuddery breath. "They called me a half-orphan and said he probably cr-crashed on purpose 'cause he didn't want me. They-they said he realized I was a mistake and decided to make it so he wouldn't have to deal with m-me. I-I know he didn't even know about m-me, but it still h-hurt." She's sobbing again now, and you just wrap your arms around her and cry with her, since even after all you've been through, you still don't understand how kids can be so mean.

Once you've both gathered yourselves, you give her a tight hug and force her to look into your eyes. "Rose, did I ever tell you how much he wanted a baby?" you ask her, wiping your eyes. She shrugs, then shakes her head, beautiful blonde curls flying out behind her.

"So, so much," you say, resting your cheek on the top of her head. "That's why we got this bear over a year before the crash." You pick up the worn brown teddy bear that sits on her bed and put it in her lap. "He pulled me into the store and said that if we were gonna have a baby someday, then he or she would need a toy." Rose still doesn't seem convinced, so you sigh and continue.

"Around three months before we got married," you say slowly, tucking her hair behind her ear, "I asked him what he thought about kids. You know what, Rose?" She stays silent, so you keep talking. "I had never seen his eyes shine more than they did right then. He told me he'd like one or two, and I agreed with him. Rosie, believe me when I say that he wanted a baby more than anything else in this world."

Her blue eyes flicker up to you, less uncertain now. "Really?" she whispers, unconsciously playing with her bear's ears. You nod.

"Yeah, baby. He's so proud of you, I know it." You take her chin in her hands and she gives you a watery smile. You return it. "I see so much of him in you," you whisper and pull her into another hug.

Once you separate, you get up from the bed and pull her to her feet. "We," you say, sweeping an arm out ceremoniously, "are going to watch TV."

She looks confused, but nods. "Okay. Uh… _The Goldbergs?_ "

You shake your head as the two of you walk through the hallway and down the stairs. "Nope. _Gilmore Girls._ "

Rose cocks her head. "What's that?"

You scoff. "Only the best show ever to grace television."

Rose nods slowly. "Okay… can we have ice cream?"

You raise an eyebrow at her. "Have I taught you nothing, child? Of course we're having ice cream. It's the best heartache medicine ever." That gets her laughing, and you smile. "Now, go set up on the couch and I'll get the dessert."

"How do I set up?"

You sigh. "Pillows, blankets, stuffed animals… whatever. Make it comfy."

She nods determinedly and runs out into the living room. You smile and reach into the freezer, pulling out two cartons of ice cream. Rose's is strawberry and yours is chocolate. You grab spoons from the drawers and leave the kitchen to find Rose sitting on the couch, nestled up in blankets and pillows with her teddy bear snuggled up against her. You smile and plop down next to her, handing her the carton of ice cream and a spoon as you grab the remote and flip through Netflix.

Rose's eyes go wide. "The whole thing?" she asks, sounding disbelieving. You nod and click _Gilmore Girls,_ causing the first episode to begin.

"Yes, the whole thing. Oh, and by the way, this is nothing compared to whatever will happen if you ever break up with a guy," you tell her, looking to the screen as you eat your own ice cream. "Now hush. It's starting."

You spend the rest of the afternoon like that. It's Friday, and she doesn't have any homework, so you two have the entire weekend to ponder bullies.

Or you could just sit and eat ice cream while watching TV and ignoring all of your problems. Either way works.

* * *

"Scott Markus Elliott," the microphone booms. A boy of about eighteen steps onto the stage, grabs his high school diploma from the principal, and winks at the crowd.

You're grinning from ear to ear as you sit in your seat. Graduation day has finally come, and it's definitely a bittersweet moment for you. You're so proud of Rose and all of her accomplishments, but also sad that she'll be moving out of the house and all the way to New York. She'll be going to Juilliard, just like you and Ryan did twenty years ago.

You nearly jump out of your chair when you hear her name being called over the loudspeaker. "Rose Joy Evans."

This time, you don't resist. You stand up and clap for her, because she's your baby and she deserves it. She catches your eye and grins, doing a mock-curtsey before accepting her diploma and heading off of the stage. You smile, sitting down again as the next name is called.

Once the ceremony is over, she runs over to you. You wrap her in a hug. "I'm so proud of you," you whisper in her ear, rocking back and forth.

"Thanks," she replies, eyes bright as you both pull away. You smile at her, and after you've taken a few pictures she's tugged away by her friends to one of their cars. You're fine with that. She's just graduated; she deserves to have some fun.

You drive yourself home and walk up the stairs to sit down on the bed. You sigh. "She graduated today, Ry," you say quietly. "How about that? Our baby girl's all grown up. She's going to Juilliard, just like us. We must be getting old." You pause, then laugh to yourself. "I mean, I am. I'm not really sure how age works up there. Does it really matter, though? As long as I can kiss you…" You trail off, smiling to yourself, and turn on your computer to look through your pictures. A blast from the past couldn't hurt right now.

* * *

You're dying.

You know you are. The doctor came in and told you a few hours ago. A few months after Rose's graduation, you found out you had cancer. It's been a long fight of two years, but it seems that you won't be coming out of it alive.

Rose is sitting next to your bed as she cries her eyes out. You reach out for her and grasp her hand, causing her to look up at you.

"Oh, baby," you manage to gasp out, struggling with each word. "I'm sorry I have to go."

She shakes her head vigorously, tears still running down her cheeks. "No, Mom, don't say that. You won't die. It'll be fine… this is all a nightmare. I'll wake up soon."

You give her a small smile, because at this point that's all you can manage. She's crying harder now, but that's okay. You've learned in your forty three years that it's okay to cry. Sometimes it helps.

You think of Ryan. The man you love, the one who in body left you too early but in spirit was never gone. You recall his blonde hair and sparkling blue eyes, and a smile comes to your lips at the thought that you're about to see him again.

You think of Rose, then. She's still clutching your hand and crying, but you know she'll be okay. She'll go on to marry that boy she's been talking about, and you'll have beautiful grandchildren. Your daughter will find comfort in the family that you know she's going to have. The one she deserves.

Your line goes flat.

And you die.


End file.
